


double dip

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: non_mcsmooch, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-04
Updated: 2009-10-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 20:45:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shh," Jennifer tells him, laughing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	double dip

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [non_mcsmooch](http://community.livejournal.com/non_mcsmooch) challenge. Thanks to [Cate](http://sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com) for betaing.

"Shh," Jennifer tells him, laughing. Ronon's slowly inching her t-shirt up over her belly, and everywhere his fingers graze against her skin she feels giddy and over-heated. "Ronon—"

His big hands move higher, curving around her rib cage and making her breath stutter, thumbs brushing against the underside of her bra. "No one to hear," he says, voice pitched low with amusement.

"Technically true," Jennifer manages, distracted though she is by the task of easing Ronon's trousers down over his hips. She's pretty sure that Ronon was the first person to find this place—a large natural spring a good half hour's walk from the new Athosian settlement—and on a too-hot summer's night like this one, few people are going to be tempted to leave the comfort of their air-conditioned homes to go traipsing through the woods.

Jennifer's been tempted, though—tempted and given in, and she raises her arms obediently to let Ronon tug her t-shirt over her head and toss it over a nearby bush. She should feel ridiculous, standing there in the middle of the woods in her bra and a pair of paint-spattered BDUs, but instead she stretches up on tip-toe to kiss him. The soft curve of Ronon's mouth and the slight scratch of his beard are familiar pleasures by now; when she reaches up to palm the nape of his neck, where his newly-shorn hair is regrowing into loose curls, she can feel the low rumble of pleasure in Ronon's chest.

"C'mon," he tells her, and then he does something with his hips so that before Jennifer has time to inhale properly, Ronon's kicking his trousers away from him and, well. Jennifer's not an innocent, precisely, but she was raised in Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, and she doesn't have much of a frame of reference for obscenely hot guys standing buck naked in front of her in the middle of the woods at the wrong side of midnight. Her mouth feels strangely dry, and not for the first time, Jennifer finds herself wondering just how she ended up here—what strange combination of coincidence and happenstance had brought her somewhere she'd never known she'd needed.

"Huh," she manages. Ronon raises an eyebrow at her, so she says, "No, no, I mean—that's great—I just—unexpected?"

Ronon looks down at himself. "Looks pretty expected to me."

"Oh god." Jennifer feels her cheeks heat, and that does nothing to diminish the smirk on Ronon's face.

"C'mon," he says again, and walks into the spring. Jennifer's pretty sure she has to resemble some kind of mutant beetroot, but she shimmies out of her BDUs, leaves them folded neatly with her bra and panties on top of a nearby boulder before following him in.

The water's cool enough to make her gasp—such a welcome relief from the humid, leaden heat that Jennifer ducks under for a moment, relishing the way it makes her scalp prickle and her whole body feel lighter. When she comes back up, she sees that Ronon's had the same idea; he's pushing damp curls of hair back from his face and the lines of his body look slick and wet.

"Good idea?" he asks her, and Jennifer fervently nods her agreement, wading over to him until they're so close together she can feel his cock hardening against her belly when he bends to kiss her.

"Um," she asks him, in between bites of his lower lip, in between gasps at how his water-cooled fingertips are working a tracery of fine patterns over her breasts, "can we, please?"

"Okay," he says, not having to ask, pushing backwards until the two of them are out in the middle of the spring, where the water is deep enough that Jennifer can't get any purchase on the bottom and has to hook her legs around Ronon's waist. The sensation is enough to make her eyes widen—being held up by his arms and the water both, the feel of his warm cock and the cold water against her clit—and her hips jerk against his, unbidden.

"How do you want—" Ronon starts, one big hand anchoring her at the small of her back, the other wandering the length of her spine. The fine lines around his eyes soften when he looks at her in a way Jennifer still can't quite believe, and it kindles a heat low in her belly fit to match the Indian summer overhead.

Impulsive, she leans in and kisses him. "Now," she murmurs against his mouth, "God, just…" She reaches down between them and guides him between her legs. "Now," she says, and gasps when he starts to push in, achingly slow. Normally it's fast between them, the stretch of him in her enough to make Jennifer moan and throw her head back against the pillows; now, here, Ronon wants to go slow and Jennifer's willing, wrapping her arms around the smooth expanse of his back and kissing him, her breasts rubbing against his water-slick chest, making pleasure spark through her.

"Tease," she gasps, nipping at the line of his jaw, and typical of Atlantis to make her long for something that had never been a desire before—to make her feel greedy for lazy pleasure, reckless enough for midnight skinny-dipping, heart full of so much affection that for the first time in Jennifer's life, caution seems inadvisable.

"Uh huh," Ronon says, and Jennifer doesn't have to see his mouth to know that he's grinning. He pushes in another bare inch and then stops—Jennifer can feel a quiver in his stomach muscles that says it's not easy for him to do that, but that doesn't stop her from breaking out every Satedan curse word he's taught her, along with a couple that are pure American Midwest.

"Do not _laugh_ at me, Ronon Dex," she says, slapping his shoulder lightly in mock outrage, and then moans when he says _okay_, blithely, and pushes the rest of the way in. The rhythm Ronon sets is slow and measured, and Jennifer's glad for how the water's bearing her up because her spine's turned to liquid and it's only the fact that her fingers are digging into the wide span of Ronon's shoulder blades that's keeping her close enough to kiss his mouth. She's waist-deep in spring-cold water, but Jennifer can feel her skin prickling with heat.

"Oh god," she says, clenching down around Ronon as pleasure coils low in her belly, and she can feel the moment when he starts to lose it—his hands move from her hips to her breasts, running back down her sides to cup her ass and pull her tight against him as she can get while he comes inside her. The pressure against her clit, the friction, is all that Jennifer needs, and she closes her eyes and shivers in his arms for a long moment.

"Good," he murmurs to her, presses a kiss to her temple.

"Uh huh." Jennifer tightens her arms around him, sucks absent-mindedly on the tattoo that's etched dark on his throat.

"Jennifer?" he says after a while.

"Mmhmm?"

"Need to put you down."

"Uh huh."

"Can't feel my legs anymore."

"Mmmhmm." She's happily occupied with licking at the smooth, wet curve of his collarbone.

Later, Ronon will claim he was entirely justified in dunking her under the water—and if startled shrieking and instigating a splash fight isn't entirely appropriate behaviour for Atlantis' chief medical officer, well, like so much in Jennifer's life nowadays, it is eminently satisfying.


End file.
